


The Traveler, the Bull, and the Devil

by Manic_Pixie_Dream_Goblin



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 10:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23349925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manic_Pixie_Dream_Goblin/pseuds/Manic_Pixie_Dream_Goblin
Summary: There's always something dangerous in the deep, dark woods, but not every monster needs to be feared.
Kudos: 1





	The Traveler, the Bull, and the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this piece to shake the cobwebs off my rusty writing chops. It's a little introduction to something I intend to grow much larger. A little high fantasy because, let's be real, I've always been a slut for high fantasy.

Grandma always told them to watch their step in the woods. 

Emory spent a great many childhood afternoons sitting on the edge of their bed while she tended to their skinned knees and raw palms. Once, they even toppled over a particularly mossy root and broke both of their wrists – yes, both their wrists - at the exact same time. They often felt lucky for having her in their life, but her skill with potions and salves came in handy when a home-cooked meal or a loving embrace just wouldn’t cut it. And though Emory felt certain Grandma would chastise them for the way they were currently sprinting through the woods, they had bigger things to worry about than scraped knees. 

Like, for example, the lumbering beastkin with drooling fangs and razor-edged axes following very close behind then. Honestly it sort of amazed Emory how fast creatures of their height and bulk could move, but they promised to ponder over that fact if they got out of the forest alive. Which, at this juncture, felt quite unlikely. Even if they refused to look over their shoulder, they could tell the beastkin were gaining on them. The sound of their thundering hooves and guttural hollers growing louder and louder with every passing second. 

And just when Emory swore they could feel that hot, reeking breath on the back of their neck, they saw hope through the trees. A break in the dense underbrush that could only be the road back to town. So Emory willed their aching, burning muscles to work just a bit harder, to push them just a bit farther. On the road, without them having to leap and dodge and duck, they could easily outpace the beastkin. They were strong, and they knew the forest, but they were still heavy, and Emory was fast. Less so now, but they could make it. They were so close.

Grandma always told them to watch their step in the woods, and when they felt their foot catch on the gnarled arch of a root, they swore they heard her mutter it in their ear again. 

They soared through the air, and time seemed to freeze for a moment before rushing to meet them much, much faster than it had any right to. Emory hit the ground so hard they thought they might pass out, but then they were tumbling, and tumbling, and tumbling. Everything spun and rattled and shook, until they hit the ground again – only with a soft splash this time. Eventually, they managed to blink the stars from their vision and take a pained breath, finding themself lying in the middle of a muddy stream. The earth rose up on either side of them in steep, mossy banks, with trees looming over the edges like a natural ceiling. Sunlight danced through the gently rustling leaves, and Emory thought this might have been a really pretty place to savor life in basically any other situation. 

On cue, several hulking shapes stepped up to the edge of the bank and peered down at them. Faces like a cross between boar and elk and wolf, dark ruddy fur over powerful, muscular bodies. Some of them wore bits of leather and hide, each cradling an axe or a spear. Their beady, black eyes radiated such hungry, cruel malice that Emory almost shivered. 

Instead, they just inhaled sharply and started scrambling backwards up the opposite bank. Unfortunately, they were covered in mud, and the bank was already pretty steep, so they only slipped back into the stream. A few harsh laughs came from above, and they watched in abject horror as the beastkin started to slide down to greet them. Hurriedly, they started crawling up the length of the stream – where it met an ancient, fallen tree. Emory pressed their back into it, the solid mass providing some sort of comfort. Not that it would really save them. 

The beastkin had been surprisingly fast, but now they were taking their sweet time closing in. One of them, head adorned with horns that reminded Emory of a bull, clearly considered himself in charge, as he shouldered past the rest. They cowed away from him and his massive, two-handed axe. Emory looked up at him with wide eyes and a pounding heart, hand closing around a large rock beside them. It would probably just annoy him at best, but maybe it would give them the time they needed to hop over the tree and keep running. 

Bullhorns stopped in front of them, lips curling back into an amused grin. Emory briefly wondered if any gods were watching, hoped one might have mercy, and gripped the rock tighter. 

A sharp whistle cut through the air, and Emory actually yelped at the noise. The beastkin all seemed pretty startled too, at least. All of them, Emory included, turned to look up the bank opposite to the one they had tumbled down. There, at the ridge, stood another towering, horned figure. Albeit, one who looked quite a bit different from the beastkin. 

He must have been only a few inches shorter than bullhorns – which would still have easily put him just over seven feet - with broad shoulders and wine-red skin. Black horns curling down like a ram’s, golden bands shining around the base of them. Even from here, Emory could tell he had an agile fighter’s build beneath his leather armor. A sword hung from his hip, a bow was strapped to his lower back, and he had a deer over his shoulders dripping blood onto the leaves beneath him. Golden eyes regarded the scene down below, a cropped tail swaying behind the towering, infernal-blooded stranger. Evidently, the beastkin were just as baffled as Emory, because they didn’t move. They just gawked. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” the stranger started, in a warm, rhythmic accent, “But unfortunately I must interject.” He dropped the deer behind himself, wiping his hands on his coat before resting one hand on his hip and the other on the pommel of his basket-hilted sword. “My name is Lupe Dorado – have you heard of me?” 

Emory certainly hadn’t, and the way the beastkin looked at each other suggested they hadn’t either. Well, aside from the one that kept gawking at him – a red-furred lass with splitting antlers. Her face seemed to be one of quiet, terrified recognition. 

“Ah, I see you’re not familiar. Well, allow me to inform you of how lucky you are! You see, if we were meeting a few months ago, this would all be over by now. But it seems the gods have decided to give you another chance, as I have very recently retired. So I will give you the opportunity to turn and walk away. Leave this poor traveler alone, and you won’t die here.” 

Silence fell on them all. Tense and choking. And then the beastkin were laughing again, all except the red lass, who had taken a couple steps back up the stream. Emory wondered what she knew, but one look at the stranger – at Lupe Dorado – suggested they would find out soon enough. 

On the ridge, he shrugged and drew his sword. The basket-hilt was a little clearer now, shaped like overlapping rose petals, with a double-edged blade that held a slight tint of red to its gleam. Lupe slid down the bank easily enough, and the beastkin backed away to give him space, as though they intended to be sporting about this. Evidently, they were, because bullhorns backed up much less than the rest, as though to challenge Lupe. He positioned himself just in front of Emory, glancing back over his shoulder and offering a brief wink before facing forward again. 

“You should get behind the tree,” he said, and Emory did exactly that. Scrambling hurriedly to the other side of the rotting trunk to watch from relative safety. Ahead, bullhorns snorted and hefted his axe pointedly. 

“We’re having a duel, then? Are you sure you want to make that mistake?” Lupe asked. 

“You… Not worth… Even half of me,” bullhorns growled. 

“I don’t know what sort of exchange rate your clan uses, but you might want to look into hiring an accountant, because that math does not track.” 

“Quiet,” bullhorns snapped, “You die now.” 

With that, he raised his axe and charged. Lupe took a couple steps closer, and at the last possible second, he spun away from the overhead swing cleanly. The axe came crashing down only a couple feet away from the tree, and Emory yelped again. For a brief second, bullhorns’ dark eyes fell on their face, before he whipped around to face Lupe. He easily strolled around the hulking beastkin, eyes unblinking and locked onto their target. 

“What a blow! You could split me in two,” Lupe said with a click of his tongue, “Of course, you do have to hit me first.” 

Bullhorns snarled and swung wide, faster than Emory expected. They thought for sure that would be the end, but Lupe bowed backwards, his feet shuffled, and suddenly the point of his sword was digging in just under bullhorns’ arm. He yowled, trying to grab at Lupe but only catching air. Huffing, the beastkin immediately rushed in for another strike, and this time, Lupe practically danced about him. Planting one boot in the mossy bank and using his inertia to spin himself around his charging foe. As soon as he landed, he was swinging low. And just like that, bullhorns came crashing to his knee with a loud cry, blood pouring from the back of his knee. 

“Remind me, again, how many of you am I worth?” Lupe asked, and bullhorns roared. 

Somehow, he found the strength to swing his axe with one hand, but even that failed to take Lupe by surprise. In a split second, he was grabbing the beastkin by one horn and kneeing him in the snout hard enough to lay him flat on his back. Without missing a beat, he positioned the tip of his blade against bullhorns’ chest, and drove it through his heart. The beastkin wheezed and weakly grasped at Lupe’s legs, before falling slack in the stream. Wordlessly, Lupe drew his sword free, and Emory took their first breath since he slid down the bank. 

Once more, time seemed to freeze for everyone – aside from the red-skinned man with his bloodied sword. Lupe flicked blood from his blade, looking up at the rest of the beastkin.

“Now is about the time where the rest of you forgo basic decency and attack all at once, despite me winning the duel, yes?” he asked. 

The remaining beastkin replied with a joint roar as they rushed forward. And once again, Lupe danced and dodged and struck like he was on a stage, performing to unheard music. Blood splattered, bodies fell, and soon, he stood alone – aside from red lass, who hadn’t charged with the others. She stood back, clutching her spear to her chest like a holy symbol.

Lupe looked up from the corpses around his feet to her, head tilting to the side.

“You have heard of me, haven’t you?” 

She nodded, and Lupe chuckled. The sound warm and inviting, despite the carnage he had just displayed. 

“Well? Go on then.” 

Red lass turned on her heel and scrambled up the bank without so much as hesitating. Once she was out of sight, and her thundering footsteps were leading away, Lupe finally turned around. 

Light danced across the golden bands of his horns, illuminating a face far too handsome and pretty to belong to someone capable of such effortless violence. The left side of his head was shaved, but the rest of his jaw-length, wavy black hair blew freely in the breeze, with a single braid hanging down behind his pierced, pointed ear. He looked to be at the prime of his life, and yet, as he approached, Emory couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under his golden eyes. There was an… Air about him. Something that suggested he was much older than his smooth voice and spry movements might lead Emory to believe. 

“Are you hurt?” Lupe asked, standing on the other side of the fallen tree. 

Emory blinked and shook their head, a little too stunned to find their voice. 

“Ah, good.” He held out his left hand – and Emory reached for it automatically, until their eyes caught on something curious. At first, they thought he was wearing a single armored gauntlet, before realizing that was his hand. From the elbow down, his arm had been replaced with a magically animated prosthetic of black metal. There was a faint orange glow from between its plates, and fresh blood dripped from the fingers. Emory must have stared for a while, because Lupe half pulled his hand back eventually. “Woops, here. This one’s clean.” 

Chuckling, he wiped his sword off on his thigh, sheathed it, and offered his gloved hand. Emory reached out to take that offer, although they also felt like an ass for staring at his prosthetic. Unfortunately, they did exactly the same thing when they noticed the tattoos crawling up from beneath his collar and up the left side of his neck, over his jaw, and just under that cheekbone. They were white flowers, overlapping in a way that seemed a little odd until Emory realized it was because there was burn scars beneath them. The tattoos didn’t cover the scarring up as much as they blended into it, however. 

“Are you sure you’re not injured?” Lupe asked, eyebrow cocked, “You look a little lost.” 

Emory blinked, looking at him more completely. Lupe smiled, one corner of his mouth raised a little higher than the other, pointed teeth gleaming with his lower canines just large enough to stick out over his upper lip. The sight of it set Emory’s heart fluttering, and they sputtered as they took his hand. 

“Uh, no, no I’m just –,” their voice cracked, and they cleared their throat aggressively, “Just a bit shaken!” 

“Mm, beastkin don’t normally get this close to Amberdawn. You’re from there, aren’t you? What’s your name?” Lupe asked. 

“Emory! Emory Elan,” they said, throwing a hand out to shake. Lupe took it with another chuckle, his grip unsurprisingly powerful. 

“Pleased to meet you, Emory. If I may make a suggestion? You should probably stay out of the woods for a while, until the guards can clean up this… Beastkin problem,” he said, gesturing at the bodies littering the stream behind him. “When we reach town, I’ll be sure to inform the Captain myself. Come on, let’s get out of the mud.” 

He started up the bank, and Emory followed close behind, careful not to slip back down. Halfway up, they made the mistake of looking over their shoulder at the corpses, and nearly lost their breakfast on the moss. 

“Y-you’re not going to handle them yourself?” they asked, completely certain he would be perfectly capable of it. “You’re an adventurer, right?” 

“Me? No, didn’t you hear? I’m retired,” Lupe said, dusting himself off at the peak of the bank. There, he turned to offer his hand again, and when Emory took it, he practically pulled them up entirely on his own. 

“O-oh, right, okay,” they murmured, looking down at their feet. 

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Lupe said, “The guards will handle it just fine. What were you even doing out here all by yourself, anyway?” 

Emory opened their mouth to explain, closed it, and shook their head. They didn’t want to bother Lupe with their problems, and they knew he was right, anyway. The guards could probably handle the beastkin, and maybe they would even be able to help Emory and grandma. 

“Uh, long story,” the eventually said, rubbing at the back of their neck.

Lupe’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, like he didn’t quite trust them. They felt their heartbeat race, but then he was taking a deep breath, shrugging nonchalantly, and turning to pick up his deer again. It must have been larger than Emory, but he carried it like it weighed as much as a cat.

“If you insist,” he said, and started towards the road. 

For a few seconds, Emory stood in their spot, fiddling with the hem of their shirt and chewing on their lower lip. Their heart still pounded, and they felt like a fool, but they couldn’t stop themself from speaking up. 

“W-wait,” they called out, hurrying after him, “I have to pay you back somehow! I-I don’t have a lot, but you can take whatever coin I have back home, or -.”

Lupe stopped in his tracks, turning enough to look down at them with a cocked eyebrow. 

“I’m retired, Emory,” he said, “You don’t have to give me anything. This was just one neighbor looking out for another.” With that, he was heading for the road again, and Emory was following close behind. 

“But you saved me, I have to do something! My grandma raised me to always show gratitude, so please, there has to be something.” 

Sighing, Lupe stopped once more, but this time, he didn’t turn around. 

“…Okay, fine. If you insist on paying me back, you and your grandma stop by my inn, order a nice, big meal, a couple of drinks, and tip my workers very generously.” 

“Your… Inn?” Emory repeated. 

Lupe looked back at them, a sharp grin on his features. 

“That’s right. The one on the hill, just up the road from town,” he said, “The Charming Devil Inn, you can’t miss it.” He winked and turned ahead, whistling a tune while his cropped tail swung behind him. Emory stood in their spot for a few seconds more, and then fell in-step behind him. 

When they got grandma her cure, Emory would be sure to drag her up the hill, to the Charming Devil Inn. There, they would order a nice, big meal, a couple of drinks, and tip very generously.


End file.
